


Hidden Treasures

by seryle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluffy Angst, Gen, i am shit at writing tags okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seryle/pseuds/seryle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from a photo I found on tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden Treasures

**Author's Note:**

> The journal had seen better days, no doubt. Some of the pages had beer stains on top of the blood stains, the photos had faded, parts were ripped out and missing. Even with all that, the indecipherable handwriting and blotchy pages, it still contained a wealth of knowledge worth preserving. Sam set to the task after discovering the bunker, finally having a place to secure the secrets they had accumulated over the years.

It was late. He was tired. He should have been more careful, but with the trials draining him like they did, and sleep no longer an easy friend to call on, Sam found himself with a cup of tea, beside an old leather bound notebook of secrets and a laptop, furiously typing away at 3am. The felt heavy in his hands. Everything felt heavy in his hands nowadays, manual dexterity a joke, he burnt a finger on the cup, dropped it, and watched in horror as the puddle of gunpowder green pooled around the journal.

He had it up off the table in an instant, peeling off the leather cover from the thick cardboard paper that held the metal rings. He heard a flutter, and a small photo fell from between the wrapper and the hard outer shell. Sam bent over to the floor to pick it up.

It was a Polaroid, from the early 80’s. A young couple stood together in front of what was presumably their first house; the woman leaned into her husband, a quiet, content smile across her face, blonde hair neatly tucked back; the man was in a mechanic’s uniform, clinging to his wife with beaming pride, but trying not to press too close and dirty the faint blue dress she wore. After several minutes of wondering who the hell his dad had a picture of, he recognized the Impala peeking out from behind them.

His parents. That was a picture of his parents.

Almost every photo they owned had burned up the night Mary died. The only picture he had ever seen of his mom was the one Dean kept in his wallet; Sam didn’t recognize John with a smile on his face. He supposed that was the last time the man was truly happy.

The next morning, when Dean pulled the milk out of the fridge, he noticed a small picture stuck to the center with a magnet, and for a brief moment, smiled.


End file.
